I am sat here, just past midnight, totally exhausted and in agony but……..

I am SOO proud of us today…

BabyMibs and myself have achieved so much in such a short time..

It’s been a long hard road at times…

Hard to see a way forward at times…

With all that rubbish in the way!

Then salvation arrived…..thanks to a local farmer giving us some of his feed pallets

And took some shifting across the field!

A bit of cutting down to size later ( ok hacking like crazy with a somewhat rusty old saw!)

DON’T let your 5 year old try this at home folks, mine was especially trained for the pose!

Our very own Grand Design!

A little somewhere to store and recycle ALL THAT BLIDDY GRASS!

( at a fraction of the £100+ the posh gardening magazines charge for similar wooden ones!)

Ours cost us a mere six free pallets, a bag of nails, a possibly fractured if not broken thumb, much cursing, several blistered and splintered fingers, and a strange inability to walk upright once done!

And the best of it?

BabyMibs actually turned to me at the end and said “you made that better than Daddy would have!”

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS lol, it’s the little things in life that please the most, and considering I was in quite a bit of pain BEFORE we started this, and since finishing I can barely move, well, how chuffed am I?

Like this:

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 34,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 13 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

1. Man-Flu is more painful than childbirth. This is an irrefutable scientific fact*.
*(Based on a survey of over 100,000 men.)

2. Man-Flu is not ‘just a cold’. It is a condition so severe that the germs from a single Man-Flu sneeze could wipe out entire tribes of people living in the rainforest. And probably loads of monkeys too.

3. Women do not contract Man-Flu. At worst they suffer from what is medically recognised as a ‘Mild Girly Sniffle’ – which, if a man caught, he would still be able to run, throw a ball, tear the phone book in half and compete in all other kinds of manly activities.

4. Men do not ‘moan’ when they have Man-Flu. They emit involuntary groans of agony that are entirely in proportion to the unbearable pain they are in.

5. Full recovery from Man-Flu will take place much quicker if their simple requests for care, sympathy and regular cups of tea are met. Is that really so much to ask? Florence Nightingale would have done it

6. More men die each year from MFN (Man-Flu Neglect) than lots and lots of other things. (Like rabbit attacks or choking on toast).

7. Men suffering from Man-Flu want nothing more than to get out of bed and come to work, but they are too selfless to risk spreading this awful condition amongst their friends and colleagues. In this sense, they are the greatest heroes this country has ever known.

8. In 1982 scientists managed to simulate the agonising symptoms of full-blown Man-Flu in a female chimp. She became so ill that her head literally fell off.

9. Man-Flu germs are more powerful than He-Man, The Thundercats and The A-Team combined. They are too strong for weak, nasty tasting ‘lady medicines’ like Lemsip, so don’t bother trying to force them on a victim of Man-Flu.

10. While it may seem like a Man-Flu sufferer is just lying around enjoying ‘Diagnosis Murder’ it is a commonly recognised medical fact that the exact pitch and frequency of Dick Van Dyke’s voice has remarkable soothing powers.

Every minute in this country one man is struck down by Man-Flu. Women, all we ask is that each of you offers them a cup of tea, some kind words and your undivided attention and care. Then maybe, just maybe, we’ll beat this monstrous disease together.

These posts have stemmed from a debate that was started accidentally elsewhere, and although it had started getting a bit personal there, it has raised some interesting questions, and some further areas I would like to explore, and I feel the subject deserves an airing here. I will make it fairly easy to respond to any section that you wish to by numbering various points that were made,do feel free to add your views but do try to keep them general and free from swearing please!

Most of these unless otherwise stated are my own personal views and I will NOT take it personally if you disagree, in fact that would make for a healthy all-round discussion. I would like to add here that I was one of the privileged high-earners and big spenders myself untill the UK’s industry took a huge nose-dive, so I do know what it’s like from both sides of the fence!

I will happily approve all comments that follow the above remit, whether you agree or disagree with any comments made here! 🙂

And any tips you may have, even if you are NOT from the UK, may well help somebody somewhere so do feel free to join in, wherever you are based!

1 – The debate starts with the general cost of food and living, what do you consider to be poor, not being able to afford to eat out/order a takeaway?

Or simply not being able to put food on the table?

There were those who thought that simply not being able to enjoy a meal out now and then anymore placed them in the realms of hardship, and others who really and truly don’t have enough money left after paying out for mortgage/rent, bills etc to be able to eat well every day.

Some came up with suggestions that poorer people must inherently have more time on their hands to shop better, trawl around looking for mark-downs and bargains, and surely in a better position than most to make use of these.

That’s great if you do indeed have time spare in a low-waged hectic life, AND happen to live in an area where large supermarkets and other likely mark-down establishments are plentiful and local, or even where public transport is cheaply and readily available. This idea doesn’t work for those not living in or near a large city, nor for those with small or school-aged children as reductions do tend to be made past most kiddies bedtime, and having dragged my little man off to the shops late at night on what is where I live quite expensive public transport only to find there were no mark-downs that evening so money thrown away, that idea is sadly not really an option for me. I myself used to live in London, Birmingham and Sheffield, and yes great bargains can be found in large built-up areas, but alas not in the “sticks”.

2. Another suggestion was that the poor should help themselves by baking cakes and selling/swapping them in local shops for vegetables etc to help themselves out. I have priced up what it would cost me to make, say, 10 apple pies, which on my budget equated to 2/3rd’s of my total weekly income left after rent and bills, and then today I made an effort to walk to the few local shops we have left here to see if they would be interested in swaps, and if so what for?

Their response?

Unsurprisingly, most said they wouldn’t be able to consider this as it would contravene some rules on food safety and traceability, not that they doubted my cooking prowess, but if a food poisoning outbreak should occur, then they wouldn’t want to be taking that risk, also that aside, I would have gotten in return goods far less in value than my original outlay!

So, great suggestion if you live in an old-fashioned local village, not so great for the majority who live in urban hellholes.

3. Another suggestion was that the poor should grow their own, again not a very well thought out idea. Great if you happen to have a garden you can do this in, but if you are in a high-rise flat not so easy. I myself don’t have access to the garden, although it is supposed to be a shared one, (don’t ask), yet this year set up a lot of things growing in pots, all given to me through Freecycle ( well worth checking out in your local area) or bought very cheaply here and there, but even so, my total outlay on seeds, pots and soil this year represents well over a month’s income for me BEFORE rent, and thanks to a combination of the weather, some hungry wildlife eating most of my plants, and an unsympathetic landlord ( the pots were considered to be unsightly!) my rewards foodwise are NOT going to be worthwhile financially, although the pleasure my son has gotten out of the exercise and the seeds I have cross-germinated will be fantastic for my small-holding plans next year.

This is one of a series of poems, written by my Grandmother, that represent a portrait of her childhood in Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, places and people she loved who are, for the most part, no longer with us.

She dedicates each and every poem to her daughters, and has kindly given me permission to share them with you all, enjoy…

Well, this morning I decided to “surprise” someone ( and as it turns out, myself in the process ) by attempting to produce the appearance of an all-out girlie for the first time in god alone knows how long!

Time, competance, and as it is turning out, sheer lack of useable warpaint is currently weighing heavily against a positive result!

Morning coffee… successfully achieved

Shower…. bloody freezing

School-run…. lunch made and packed, books in bag, everything by the door, achieved

Painting toe nails…. well, they DID look kinda fab for a brief instant, I remembered reading somewhere that less is definately more when applying, so resisted the temptation to go over each nail more than the once, actually didn’t get varnish on the sides of the toes, like I usually do…then decided my feet were cold and put fluffy slippers on without thinking…..

I wonder if cute furry-edged toe nails might now become a “thing” ???

Next I tried to drag a brush through still-wet ( and heavily un-conditioned as I discovered I had run out!) hair…. result… mad knotted mass of straw…ok so maybe a hat might be a good plan for later, somehow I suspect the Worzel Gummidge look isn’t quite going to have the desired effect!

On to face, make-up and eyes….spending longer trying to sharpen an eyeliner pencil than actually applying make-up at present, four old stubs later and none will sharpen, it appears they’ve broken inside. Attempting to draw a reasonably straight line on eyes armed with a broken piece of liner pencil held with a pair of tweezers is NOT to be recommended, the red-eye weeping look is, as with the hair, NOT going to produce the desired effect either!

Half an hour of trying to draw lines, conceal other lines, smudge, re-apply and curse my way through the war paint exercise, I THOUGHT I’d managed an overall look of reasonably chic if slightly overdone middle-aged ready to go out on the town effect.

Go to wake son up to get ready for school…… ok, so maybe he’d just had a bad dream before he opened his eyes, but the look of sheer terror on his face will haunt me for a while.

His first words, once he’d fully awakened were “ooh mum is it Halloween today?”

Ok, so it’s going to be a case of wobbling up to the village shop on never-before worn heels and placing a wanted card in the window… Werewolfess seeking suitably blind mate

There is nothing worse than a Doctor’s Receptionist who insists you tell her what is wrong with you in a room full of other patients.

I know most of us have experienced this, and I love the way this old guy handled it.

A 65-year-old man walked into a crowded waiting room and approached the desk.
The Receptionist said, ‘Yes sir, what are you seeing the Doctor for today?’

‘There’s something wrong with my dick’, he replied.

The receptionist became irritated and said, ‘You shouldn’t come into a crowded waiting room and say things like that. ‘

‘Why not, you asked me what was wrong and I told you,’ he said.

The Receptionist replied; ‘Now you’ve caused some embarrassment in this room full of people. You should have said there is something wrong with your ear or something and discussed the problem further with the Doctor in private.’

The man replied, ‘You shouldn’t ask people questions in a roomful of strangers, if the answer could embarrass anyone. The man walked out, waited several minutes, and then re-entered.

The Receptionist smiled smugly and asked, ‘Yes??’

‘There’s something wrong with my ear,’ he stated.

The Receptionist nodded approvingly and smiled, knowing he had taken her advice.. ‘And what is wrong with your ear, Sir?’

Like this:

I personally am more reminded of the old Smash advert, with the laughing tin Martians whenever I see news on the Curiosity bot!
Saw the “lights in the sky” last night myself, and suspect it was a satellite or something crashing down..definately didn’t act like a meteor and “they” are good at not being totally honest with us ( maybe someone in the Middle East finally managed to attempt to nuke us?)
Who knows, but it was one heck of a good light show, and will provide rich fodder for great imaginations such as Kate’s, love the story Kate, brilliant imagery!

Six weeks ago, the rover robot Curiosity made it to the surface of Mars. It was not a dead cert. There were many things which could have gone awry: but mankind in general and NASA in particular patted themselves on the back when the little robot made it.

What an achievement. Our man on Mars, taking pictures of that ethereal moon, Phobos, crossing the sun; strolling across the surface of the red planet and sending back holiday snaps.

It has not travelled far, however.

During its six week vacation – it landed August 6 – it has trekked a vast 950 yards and now it has become extremely preoccupied with a rock.

Hello all, yes, I know, I haven’t been around that much all summer, blame it on a bad wrist, writer’s cramp, and to be brutally honest, booger all to write about untill now.

But now…I have spent some time trying to get to know someone, someone I really thought was special,…then the bombshell, someone they’ve apparently known for years has “popped” back onto the scene and hey presto, me out in the cold, second place again. NOT

Those of you who know me well, will know this simply isn’t going to happen to me again, even if it means my being a spinster all my life, no way will I take second row to anyone anymore.

Altogether this has been a rather strange summer, BabyMibs has grown far faster than I had anticipated, both in spirit and in size, and it feels as though almost everyone I know has either gotten engaged or married….maybe just my old age showing through or maybe life trying to tell me something, am still undecided on that front.

BabyMibs is starting to show his own personality quite strongly now….he has very fixed mideas on what he’d like to do etc, and I think maybe I am geting the same way in a different way. I feel I have gotten the same way, short-tempered, short-fused and definitely far too short on time to waste on guys who may be interested, maybe not.

Have a feeling my new mindset is going to end a “cruel summer” with a “winter’s tale”, but why on earth should I settle for second-best?

I am the best thing that could happen to anyone..am I not??

Apologies on the lack of posts..watch this space for updates on our summer hols and how the new place is shaping up xx

Like this:

This is one of a series of poems, written by my Grandmother, that represent a portrait of her childhood in Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, places and people she loved who are, for the most part, no longer with us. She dedicates each and every poem to her daughters, and has kindly given me permission to share them with you all, enjoy…

This is one of a series of poems, written by my Grandmother, that represent a portrait of her childhood in Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, places and people she loved who are, for the most part, no longer with us. She dedicates each and every poem to her daughters, and has kindly given me permission to share them with you all, enjoy…

A golfer is in a competitive match with a friend, who is ahead by a couple of strokes.

“Boy, I’d give anything to sink this putt,” the golfer mumbles to himself.

Just then, a stranger walks up beside him and whispers, “Would you be willing to give up one-fourth of your sex life?”

Thinking the man is crazy and his answer will be meaningless, the golfer also feels that maybe this is a good omen, so he says, “Sure,” and sinks the putt.

Two holes later, he mumbles to himself again, “Gee, I sure would like to get an eagle on this one.”

The same stranger is at his side again and whispers, “Would it be worth giving up another fourth of your sex life?”

Shrugging, the golfer replies, “Okay.” And he makes an eagle.

On the final hole, the golfer needs another eagle to win..

Without waiting for him to say anything, the stranger quickly moves to his side and says, “Would winning this match be worth giving up the
rest of your sex life?”

“Definitely,” the golfer replies, and he makes the eagle.

As the golfer is walking to the club house, the stranger walks
alongside him and says, “I haven’t really been fair with you because you don’t know who I am. I’m Satan, and from this day forward you will have no sex life.”